


the garden of eden

by foxxwrites



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, You're Welcome, also octavia is the spawn of satan, also they'd like to stop the apocalypse please, angel!clarke, clarke and bellamy really hate their bosses, demon!bellamy, good omens - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:38:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxwrites/pseuds/foxxwrites
Summary: good omens au / bellamy as crowley, clarke as aziraphale





	the garden of eden

**4004 B.C.**

“You gave them the Apple?”

He’s so _dark_ , in complexion, in the roots of his hair, he seems to be made of shadows.

“I don’t understand why they can’t have whatever the hell they want. They are alive, aren’t they? I mean, what’s the point otherwise?”

But he’s not a shadow. He’s flesh and bone and visceral as hell.

His eyes burn passionate orange, she thinks that must be a reflection of the pits in hell itself, his victims can look into his eyes and behold a promise of what’s to come.

They watch Adam and Eve fend off a lion with a flaming sword.

“For now,” she mutters, hating herself for the doubt lingering inside of her celestial being.

“You gave them the Sword?”

“I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe it’ll save them,” she’s almost reassured, reinvigorated. “Or be their inevitable downfall. You know, one or the other.” Almost.

“You’re the one that got them kicked out of the garden.”

“Yeah, more fun this way.”

The Angel shakes her head in clear disapproval.

“What? All I did was suggest she take a bite. Didn’t make her do anything.”

“You’re a Demon. Everything you do is either pure evil, or at the least ill-intended.”

“I’ll try not to be offended.”

“You convinced them to disobey God. I aimed to offend you.”

The Demon smiles, toothy and amused. “Bellamy.”

“Bellamy?” she questions and he responds by pointing to himself. “Oh, yes. Clarke.”

“Good luck, Clarke.”

She watches his dark wings wrap the air around them and claim possession, confident enough to own the sky itself.

He's so _dark_ , and she wonders why he took the time to speak to her.

* * *

**3004 B.C.**

“You always seem to be around for the catastrophes.”

Clarke turns her head to find a recognizable face, years and years had passed but here he stood, familiar all the same. It certainly wasn’t every day a Demon had a conversation with her, let alone a civil one.

Bellamy smirks at her. “Maybe you’re the Demon.”

“No. I’m one of the good guys.”

“Are you?” Bellamy eyes the wooden boat dubiously.

“This is the Lord's plan. There’s a reason for this.”

She may not know the reason, exactly. But she’s sure there is one. There must be.

“For drowning everyone?”

“Yes,” but Clarke’s voice shakes with uncertainty.

“Well, even _we_ haven’t done anything this grand scale yet.”

Clarke’s heart beats ever so slightly faster, she can feel it thumping against her chest. “This is meant to happen. This is the right thing.”

“The right thing is killing children? You’re sounding more and more like my side.”

Clarke refuses to look at him, eyes trained on Noah's family, the ones that will survive. The good ones. The deserving.

“God will reward them when they live better in their new life.”

“Right,” Bellamy inches closer, head lowering to hers. “If God wants them to know the difference between good and evil so bad, how is showing them genocide the best way to follow through with that?”

“It's not genocide,” but Clarke hesitates. “The best will live.”

“But we both know, none of them are perfect. Seems God doesn’t like that.”

Clarke is conflicted and irritated, this Demon is weaseling his silky words under her skin. He's rooting them like flowers, coming back to water them every century or so. She was made for obedience, she needs to remember that.

Demons were tricky, and foul, and liars.

( _But he made such a great argument_.)

* * *

**33 A.D.**

“Rough way to go.”

Clarke doesn’t need to turn around to know who’s lurking behind her. His voice often echoes in her mind, whenever she’s lacking in confidence over a decision. It provides a very literal Devil’s advocate.

“Shouldn't you like that sort of thing?”

Bellamy flinches at the _bang bang_ of the nail being hammered into the human's hand. “It’s a bit dramatic.”

“That’s why everyone's watching.”

Bellamy studies the Angel's face. She’s much more stoic and less emotionally charged than before, less innocent perhaps. “Voyeurism was never really my thing.”

“Yet we always seem to watch these things together.”

Bellamy laughs softly, “You’ve got me there.”

“Aren’t you going to invade my brain with philosophical questions?”

“As much as I like to irk you, this is more of a human on human problem. Less God bashing to do here.”

Clarke sighs, silently agrees.

“He wanted them to be kind.”

Bellamy watches as the carpenter hangs from a cross, his blood pooling on the ground below him.

“He should have known better.”

* * *

**41 A.D.**

“Where’s the crisis?”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrow as he turns to find Clarke peering down at him. He gestures for her to take a seat. “Crisis?”

“Doesn’t there have to be a catastrophic event for us to cross paths?”

Bellamy smirks. “You need a drink.”

“I suppose I’ll have one,” Clarke eyes him, head tilting. “But don’t think it’s because you tempted me.”

“Please, temptation is strictly business hours only.”

Clarke settles into a small smile. “Good.”

“How’re things up there?”

“Good,” Clarke cringes. “When no one’s asking about where I’ve put my assigned flaming sword.”

“ _Ah_. Lying! Not very Angel of you at all.”

“Not lying,” Clarke insists, meeting Bellamy’s condescending stare. “Avoiding the truth.”

“Oh, _excuse_ me, I was horribly wrong,” Bellamy snorts and Clarke finds herself admiring the sound.

“How come you’re in this dark corner by yourself?”

“It suits me.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows. “No,” she says so simply it surprises him. “You’re nosey,” and he’s offended, now. “You’re always out exploring and infiltrating local culture. Something's upset you.”

He’s so _dark_ , but his expression darkens even further.

For some insane reason, Clarke is not afraid.

“What happened?”

“My team. They’ve finalized a plan. Of sorts.”

“For world domination?”

“For world destruction.”

Bellamy tells Clarke the apocalypse is coming, and all she can do is laugh to hide her fear.

* * *

**537 A.D.**

“You look a fool.”

Bellamy’s black armor clinks as he shuffles around to face Clarke.

“I’m leading a rebellion.”

“Against what?”

“Peace.”

Clarke’s lips twitch at the clunky suit of armor. Perhaps he meant it intimidating but to her it is ridiculous.

“Why?”

Bellamy shrugs. “It’s what I do.”

“Well you’re costing me a lot of paperwork.”

Clarke has had to write the words _‘Demon Influenced Outbursts’_ on her heavenly paperwork countless times over the past couple weeks. Perhaps she should have guessed it was the doing of her long time serpent acquaintance.

“They have me do that, too. So they can keep up with all that’s going on out here. Though really I could say anything. They never check.”

“Mine neither.”

Clarke wonders why it feels pleasant to have something in common with him.

“Maybe we could just stop all of our good and bad deeds and lie? Take a vacation?”

Clarke stares at him until she realizes he’s serious. “We can’t lie to Head Office.”

“Why not? You said they wouldn’t know.”

“ _I_ would know!”

“We'll go somewhere nice. Fiji?”

“I am not skimping on my duties and running off with―well, with _you_ of all people!”

“Come on, Angel. Loosen up those feathers a little,” he strides closer. “Let’s ditch this apocalypse.”

Clarke knows the difference between good and evil, but as Bellamy trips over his armor and lands in a heap on the floor, she can’t help but notice how this one Demon may just be a bit of both.

* * *

**1601**

“You know, I thought I could smell a miracle.”

Clarke hides her smile and continues clapping for the man onstage.

“Is that an insult coming from you?”

“I would never insult you. You’re my only friend.”

“Really?” Clarke’s eyes are watching the play onstage but her whole attention is on the shadow casting over her delicate shoulder. “I never considered you a friend.”

“Ouch. That stings, Angel.”

“An acquaintance, maybe. A work colleague, at most.”

“Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings.”

“I wasn’t aware you had feelings.”

Bellamy steps forward into her line of vision. His black clothing is a perfect contrast to her white dress.

“They're seasonal.”

Clarke chuckles and looks at him for the first time. The sun is not half as bright as his amber eyes.

“Doing a lot of evil deeds?”

“Yes. Not much of a point though when you keep making miracles to cancel them out.”

“It’s what I do,” she smugly echoes his words from their last meeting.

“Been lots of talk downstairs.”

“Oh?”

“They seem very hung up on this whole apocalypse thing.”

“Oh.”

“What about your end?”

“They have an army, and a plan of attack. Doesn’t really seem to be much of a plan to actually stop it though.”

“Right. Guess it’s down to us.”

“Us? Your lot are the problem.”

“No. Not them. _Us_.”

Clarke blinks and realizes something very important... Bellamy is an idiot.

“What? You and me? Stop the apocalypse? And how do you suggest we do that?”

“Together."

* * *

**1793**

“In a pickle?”

When Bellamy heard she was in a cell in the Bastille in the middle of the French Revolution, he can’t say he was surprised. But when he’s on the first plane out and using his best temptations to free her, he really does wonder what it is he’s doing. _For an Angel of all creatures._

Clarke is defiantly silent, probably too ashamed to admit she had gotten herself into this mess because of a French pastry.

He unlocks the chains from around her wrists. “Come along, then. This is more my scene than yours.”

“I don’t regret it.”

“What? Getting locked up for some Brioche?”

“No. Our thing that we have. Balancing each other out. I only preform miracles once you’ve performed temptations and you vice versa. Never more or less. I don’t regret it, even if it is slightly a massive waste of time.”

“Glad we could get that out in the open,” Bellamy says awkwardly, feeling much too exposed. Vulnerable, even.

“When I was sitting in this cell, I kept thinking of what the Archangels would do if they knew. And I just realized I don’t mind going to jail for it, even if it is for centuries.”

Bellamy cracks a smile. “Probably millennia. You know, if we’re lucky.”

She’s complicated their relationship, she knows. She said it aloud, and they’ve never done that before. But he's just saved her from the guillotine, which is a far greater complication.

“Thanks for saving me.”

“I was in the neighborhood.”

If by in the neighborhood he meant on the opposite side of the planet.

* * *

**1941**

“Do I get a medal for every time I save you? Cause I should.”

Bellamy swears mercilessly as he hops down the church isle. His skin is itchy, irritated and on fire, and his feet are cast literally aflame.

“What are you doing in a Church? You’ll burn!”

“Saving you. I’ve just said!”

“ _Bellamy_ ―you're insane! Get out!”

“Yeah, we probably should. There’s a bomb.”

“There’s a bomb?”

The fiendish foes she was meeting, who were set to double cross her as she was attempting to double cross them, attempt to flee. Only Bellamy and Clarke make it out before the church explodes.

“I can’t believe you destroyed a Holy building!”

“I saved your life! How many times do I have to tell you for you to realize?”

“I had it under control.”

“They all had guns pointed at you!”

“I could have handled it alone.”

“But you didn’t because I-"

“Saved me. Yeah, got it.”

“Well, you could sound happier about it.”

Clarke wasn’t mad at Bellamy for saving her, she was mad at herself for needing to be saved.

“I was trying to do the right thing.”

“I know, Angel. You did.”

Clarke’s eyes soften as she turns her gaze to him. “Your feet.”

  
“They’re charred and bloody, but _hey_ , it’s one Hell of a story.”

Bellamy realizes he was so busy making sure Clarke was okay that he completely forgot about his own feet, and how he would be able to walk anywhere without actually being able to use them.

Clarke looks up at the burning church. “Every sin needs a miracle,” her dainty pointer finger taps his foot and both feet are magically restored.

Bellamy’s snake-like eyes that once burned with the intensity and horror of hellfire seem to melt into the soft hum of a campsite fire, soft and warm, and safe.

* * *

**2008**

“He doesn’t look world ending.”

Bellamy’s big, pounding heart does a somersault at the sound of her voice.

“She. They say, it’s up to how she’s raised.”

He peers down at the little tyke, amazed at the Devil's Spawn he was chosen to hand deliver.

“Are you going to raise her?”

Bellamy starts, flabbergasted. “Me? A baby?”

“Why not? I think you’d manage quite well.”

His orange orbs scan the tiny creature he would have to part with in several days. “Could you imagine? Me?”

“Yes, I could.”

Bellamy wants to send Clarke a sassy scowl but finds he can’t keep his eyes off of the infant he’s grown rather attached to.

“I couldn’t. I _shouldn’t_. The Devil... He’d be pissed.”

Clarke appears by his side, smiling softly at the little girl snug in Bellamy’s arms.

“What’s her name?”

“They didn’t give her one.”

“You should name her.”

“ _Clarke_ ,” and it’s the first time she’s ever heard her name from his lips in thousands of years. “I can’t.”

“Do it or I will. I’ll name her after a saint.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will. Watch me. How about Francis?”

Bellamy blanches in disgust. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Then name her.”

She’s so small and not as scary as she should be. She feels so perfect in his arms, snoozing calmly. He wants to protect her.

He _will_ protect her.

“Octavia.”

* * *

**Six Days Before the End of the World**

“I haven’t the heart to tell her it’s a Hellhound.”

Clarke smiles, properly, blindingly. “She’s beautiful.”

“Well, I had no hand in that myself.”

“Bellamy,” he looks surprised to hear his own name even though Octavia screams it fifty times a day. “She’s wonderful. You did an amazing job.”

Bellamy flusters, pulling at his collar. He's still dressed in entirely all black, with Clarke beside him in all white. _After all this time_ , he thinks.

He watches his sort-of-daughter play with her new puppy and revels in the delight on her face. “Do you think...on her birthday...”

“No,” Clarke says more determined than she's ever said anything in her long life. “It _won’t_ happen.”

“But it’s destiny and―"

“God's plan?”

“Satan's, if we're being technical.”

Clarke smiles at the ground, hands behind her back, “I used to sit and wait for God’s plan. Tell myself that’s what being alive meant. Following God’s plan,” she shakes her head, her eyes watching the little girl play with her new puppy. “But it isn’t. God gave us _choice_ for a reason, and it can’t be to torture us. Maybe when we stood and watched Noah's Ark and every natural disaster, maybe God put those there to see if we would put a stop to what is wrong no matter who did it. Maybe we were all too afraid to do what we believed in and that’s why God keeps testing us. I think we were right in the Garden. You got them kicked out and because of that they learned to survive by themselves. I disobeyed orders, but that’s what gave them a fighting chance.”

Clarke meets Bellamy's eyes under the barrier of his sunglasses. “You were right. I should have listened. You were always right. We _should_ do whatever the hell we want.”

Bellamy says nothing and Clarke worries that she’s ruined everything they had, that she’s made it too real, too personal. Which it always was, but they never dared admit it.

Just as he opens his mouth, Octavia bounds over.

“Clarke! You're here!” she pulls her into an aggressive hug, “You haven’t been around in forever! You have to come to my birthday party! You have to!”

“Of course. Eleven is such an important age.”

“Come meet my puppy!”

Bellamy watches Clarke being dragged off by his quasi-daughter and inhales a shaky breath.

He hasn’t the heart to tell her that the apocalypse is still six days away. That he’s not the good guy. That he still serves Hell.

* * *

**Two Days to the End of the World**

“No one asked you to get involved.”

“ _You_ got me involved!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did! You spoke to me.”

Bellamy scoffs, “So?”

Clarke struts up to him, wide-eyed and pissed off. “You _talked_ to me. What other Demon do you know that’s ever even said two words to an Angel that weren’t a threat?”

“I’m sure there’s some.”

“No! There’s none! Same way there isn’t an Angel out there that’s ever _ever_ spoken to a Demon in any form of conversation.”

“Well if I hadn’t you’d be dead by now.”

“Well then I wouldn’t have to worry about the apocalypse, would I?”

They’re both exhausted and overheated. They were playing Monopoly with Octavia when a letter came through the door and _of course_ Clarke saw the address and _of course_ Clarke freaked out.

“This was the only way I could keep her safe! This was the only way that I could _keep her._ ”

He pleads with her to understand, betraying Octavia doesn’t mean he loves her any less.

“Reporting her every move to Hell isn’t keeping her safe.”

“I didn’t tell them the truth, Angel. I just gave them something to appease them once in a while. Pretended she kicked a puppy, stole some candy, things like that.”

“But they know where she is.”

He understands, because it’s all he can think about. In two days they will come for her. In two days she will end the world.

“It’s _Octavia_ ,” his voice is a broken whisper. “She can barely tie her own shoes, she's not going to destroy everything in creation. She _can’t_.”

Clarke walks away and Bellamy doesn’t know if she’ll ever come back.

* * *

**One Day to the End of the World**

“Why?”

He doesn’t know if he's relieved or heartbroken.

“Why what?”

But he knows that it _hurts_.

“Why did you speak to me? Why did you speak to an Angel in the Garden of Eden? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn't it?”

“No! You’re a _Demon_ , Bellamy. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugs. “I saw you on the wall.”

“And?”

“And what, Clarke? What do you want me to say? That I saw your hair knot from the strength of the wind and wanted to run my fingers though it? That I saw the look on your face was the same as mine and wanted to come closer? Because I did. I wanted to corrupt you with everything in my being but then you started talking and I wanted to listen to you speak forever. Is that what you want?”

It isn’t what she'd wanted. She wanted him to tell her she meant nothing and it was an accident. A mistake. She wanted things to be simple. Black and white. Easy.

She wants to tell him this. She wants to get mad at him. She wants to have someone to be mad at. She wants to tell him how she feels, and how he makes her feel.

But instead she says, “I think your parenting skills might be good enough to stop the apocalypse.”

* * *

**Last Day of the World**

“Hey,” Clarke says softly to Octavia, bending down to enter her fort of blankets.

“Clarke!” Octavia beams.

“Is it okay if I come in?”

“Yes! Of course,” Octavia excitedly makes room for her.

“So tonight’s your birthday, and at midnight you get to make a special wish.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, see, eleven is a very important age.”

Octavia looks doubtful, almost unimpressed.

Clarke sighs, “Okay, listen. I need you to do something for me, Octavia. It’ll seem silly but you have to do it or something bad will happen.”

“Something bad?”

“Yes.”

“To Dad?”

“No, sweetie. Um.”

“It is. It _is_ Dad, or else you wouldn’t be worried.”

Clarke furrows her eyebrows, knowing that Bellamy is listening. “Yeah. It is your Dad. Do you think you can do this for him?”

Octavia nods eagerly.

“Good. Tonight when the clock hits twelve you remember every single minute you’ve ever had with Bell― your Dad. You remember every scraped knee, every sandwich, every crossword puzzle. You think good and hard on it and if anyone in your head tells you that you have a different father you say _no_ and you think about Bellamy, okay?”

Octavia frowns. “There’s going to be people in my head?”

“Well, yes. But just for tonight," Octavia stares at Clarke. "We'll explain it when you’re older.”

Clarke exits the fort and she desperately hopes her prayers will be answered. Just this once. If never again, _just this once_.

He’s leaning against the kitchen counter seemingly deep in thought and Clarke takes the time to study him. She wishes she could give him and Octavia a happy ending. Knowing they were happy, she would give up anything.

“Hopefully with all her energy going into picturing you as her father, her real father will be cast aside in her mind and then in reality.”

“Her real father,” he mutters unhappily.

“Satan, I mean. I―You might not be her real father but you’re the best she could have ever asked for.”

He nods gratuitously and Clarke wonders why, at the end of the world itself, she can’t just tell him that she―

Well, _you know._

* * *

**16 Minutes to the End of the World**

“Dad! Oh my god, I'm _fine_!”

“I’m just making sure you’re tucked in properly and you have your night light and your horse toy and―"

“Dad!”

“Okay, okay,” he lays a soft kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He doesn’t want to close the door so Clarke does it for him.

“We can’t do anything for her in there.”

Bellamy knows she’s right. The Demons will come and they will have to fend them off and hope an eleven year old can save the world with her dreams.

Clarke’s hand shakes as it slips into his. He latches onto it, squeezing tightly. Both of them facing the front door, ready for the fight.

“If we die―"

“We won’t.”

* * *

**Very First Day of the Rest of their Lives**

“What happened in here?” Octavia gapes at the mess as she comes down the stairs.

Bellamy and Clarke lay panting in a pile of wrecked furniture.

A slow, wide smile stretches across Bellamy’s lips at the sound of her voice.

“Is it the morning? Is it the next day?”

Octavia stares down at them in bewilderment. “What were you two doing?"

Clarke smiles and squeezes her eyes closed, opening them as light floods the room. Bellamy pulls the curtains and a beautiful, bright, sunny day greets them.

Bellamy and Clarke cry as they laugh.

Octavia shakes her head, “You two are insane,” she then stumbles over the rubble and into the kitchen to make breakfast.

“What now?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy snorts. “I just want some pancakes.”

Clarke smiles. “Me too!”

They both heave their sore bodies upward and toward the kitchen.

“I was thinking, you know, everything in heaven will be a bit quiet now there’s no apocalypse to stop.”

“Mmm.”

“Maybe I could stay in your spare room, just for a while.”

“Why do you think we have one, Angel?”


End file.
